Rules for Being a Girl - Candace Bushnell Page 0,70
stings a little—both the words themselves and his casual shrug as he says them; just like that, he’s the guy I thought he was back in October, a vaguely douchey lacrosse bro only looking for a good time. I think it could have been more than just fun, whatever there was between us. I guess I thought it was. But I’m pretty sure I missed my chance now. “Yeah,” I say again, brushing some imaginary lint off my jeans. “We had fun.”
Gray nods, like he’s glad that’s all settled. “So, um, what about you?” he asks, clearing his throat. “You figure out where you’re headed in the fall?”
“Amherst,” I report, aiming for excited and mostly getting there—it’s still an awesome school, even if it’s not the one my gram went to, and I know I’m incredibly lucky to have the option at all. “Sent in my deposit yesterday, actually.”
“You’re going to be amazing wherever you go,” Gray predicts easily, like it’s just a given. “Amherst’s not too far either.”
I look over at him in surprise, not sure what he means—not too far from here? Or from him? The miracle of Gray was always how easy he was to talk to. But now it’s like I don’t know how.
“No,” I agree finally, careful. “Not too far.”
Gray smiles. For a second it feels like he’s going to say something else, or maybe like I am—like there’s unfinished business here and both of us can feel it. But the bell rings for the end of the period before either one of us can find the words.
“Shit, I’ve got a trig exam,” Gray says, getting to his feet and reaching down for his backpack. “Take care of yourself, okay? With the article and everything, I mean. I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I will.” Then, suddenly: “Gray—”
“Hm?” He turns around. “What’s up?”
I open my mouth, then close it again. Of everything I’ve lost in the last few months, somehow this feels like the worst.
“Nothing,” I tell him finally. “You take care of yourself too.”
Thirty-Six
School is strangely quiet the rest of the day. Chloe and I were fully prepared for a fallout of epic proportions—we even drafted emergency letters to our respective colleges in the event we were both expelled—but other than my conversation with Gray on the bleachers, no one says anything to me about it. I take a calc quiz. I sit with the book club at lunch. Even Michael Cyr leaves me alone.
On one hand it feels like a massive relief—that editorial was the riskiest thing I’ve ever written, and even though I might have been prepared to sacrifice what’s left of my future, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the consequences.
On the other hand, it’s hard not to feel a tiny bit disappointed too. Like, does seriously no one even care?
Chloe picks me up the following morning, the two of us listening to the latest episode of our favorite creepy podcast and taking the long way so we can swing by the Starbucks drive-through for iced coffees and slightly dry croissants. By the time we pull into the Bridgewater parking lot it almost feels like it did last fall before everything happened.
That is, until we actually get inside.
I’ve become something of an expert in gauging the energy in the south hallway the last few weeks, and this morning it definitely feels like something unusual is happening, that sharp electric bite in the air. Sean Campolo’s gaze cuts in between us. Allie Chao whispers something behind her hand.
“Oh, what the hell is this?” I can’t keep myself from muttering. It feels like my first day back after break all over again, right down to the icy feeling creeping down my backbone. I thought I was immune to this, to the shame of being singled out and stared at. I guess, even after all this time, I was wrong.
I’m about to bolt—directly to first period, or possibly right out the door again—but Chloe reaches down and hooks her elbow in mine.
“Relax,” she says, with all the easy intuition of seven years of best friendship. Her voice is perfectly level. “Whatever happens, we’re together, right?”
I force a nod. “Right,” I manage, and to my surprise, I do feel a tiny zing of confidence, my spine straightening the slightest bit. “We’re together.”
We head toward our lockers, gather our books; down the hall I can see a gaggle of book clubbers sprawled in the lounge outside the cafeteria, and as we weave through the crowded hallway